The Way Home
by ichbineinnerdess
Summary: Sequel to 'The Love of the King of Camelot' (Arthur and Merlin are already together). Arthur and his knights are waylaid on their way back to Camelot. Magical reveal. Diverges from canon 3 ep. before the end of season 4. Multi-chapter. Rated 'M' due to eventual Merthur scenes. Just my second fan fic, I'd appreciate feedback :) Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Arthur was feeling elated. He was cold, though he would never admit it, and the slanting rain was stinging his eyes, but these were minor inconveniences compared to the sheer happiness that seemed to be burning within him. He felt so powerful, so alive. He was King, he and his knights had won a victory that day over a small yet particularly ruthless group of bandits, Morgana had not been seen or heard of for months, ever since her failed attempt to torture Gaius for information that could be used against Camelot. Life was good.

His knights had fallen silent behind him and the only sounds now were the unceasing rain beating against their armor and their horses' footfalls, muted by layers of wet leaves. The light was failing and they would need to stop and make camp soon. They would be back in Camelot before night fell tomorrow. That thought heated Arthur up some more, and he glanced over his right shoulder at Merlin, who was riding almost abreast of himself.

Merlin seemed to be lost in thought. His hood only partially covered his head and his face was wet and cold and beautiful.

A horse whinnied behind them, and Arthur abruptly returned his eyes to the path in front of him. He was constantly reminding himself not to stare at Merlin, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

It had been a few weeks now since that first night spent with Merlin in his chambers – the night he had dared to caress his manservant, the night he had realized his feelings were reciprocated, the night filled with so many slow, passionate pleasures – he swallowed and shifted in his saddle. There had been many wonderful nights with Merlin since they had discovered each other's love, and each other's bodies, but the days had become more difficult to navigate.

He wondered how much his knights knew, how much they guessed. He and Merlin had been close for years now, but some change in their behavior must have been noticed by Leon or Gwaine, at the very least. He knew that Leon always watched him closely; he had always been protective of him, ever since the first time Arthur had swung a sword. Gwaine, on the other hand, despite being his sworn knight, seemed to be overprotective and watchful only where Merlin was concerned. Sometimes Arthur thought that Gwaine's loyalty lied with Merlin first, before his King, but he couldn't bring himself to find fault with that. Merlin was safer with a friend like Gwaine, and Arthur was grateful for it. He himself had no lack of sworn knights who would defend him to their last breath.

Did his knights suspect their King was enamored of his manservant? There had been a change in the way that Merlin smiled at him sometimes now, Arthur knew. His looks were just so full of unguarded love sometimes, that it literally took Arthur's breath away for a few moments. Arthur himself had stopped playfully punching Merlin, had stopped poking fun at him and teasing him as he used to, had stopped loudly complaining about his utter uselessness… although those things had largely been in jest, he couldn't bring himself to pretend now, not anymore.

Had Leon noticed that way Merlin had smiled at him when his fingers brushed against Arthur's this morning at the campfire, when he had handed him his cup? That mischievous smile and cocked eyebrow that Arthur had come to associate with his buttons being unfastened and his trousers untied? Had he noticed the way Arthur had stared into Merlin's face and blushed?

Had Gwaine noticed the way Arthur had touched Merlin's cheek after the battle, so unguardedly grateful for the stroke of luck that had caused one of the bandits to trip over a tree root as he headed, sword bloody and drawn, towards Merlin, who was half-hidden, unarmed, behind a tree? Arthur had thought they were concealed by the tree, but had turned to find Gwaine in the act of turning away from them, kneeling to retrieve a large throwing knife. Did Gwaine guess at what was between them?

Four days ago they had fallen asleep together, had slept more soundly than usual, and Merlin had run into Gwaine on his way back to Gaius's chambers in the very-early morning. Gwaine had been on his way back from the bedchamber of a certain red-haired, freckled young lady (it was a well-known secret that he met with the youngest daughter of one of the more pompous council-members, and Arthur privately thought that he was overdue for some trouble on that account), so when he met Merlin, both of them with unfastened boots, half-open shirts and jackets on their arms, it was clear which suspicion would first come to mind. It had been just around the corner from Arthur's bedchamber. Merlin had reported that Gwaine was taken aback for a moment, and had then let out a small bark of a laugh and slapped Merlin lightly on the shoulder before continuing on his way.

Arthur glanced at Merlin again. He wasn't ashamed. He loved Merlin and was proud of the impressive young man he had become over the past few years. His loyal, brave Merlin. It was a pity that such a love could not be publicly accepted for what it was, but for now that did not affect their happiness.

Although another few minutes of this weather might turn Merlin into an icicle, and that would definitely affect their happiness.

"Gwaine has stopped complaining, so something is clearly terribly wrong. We should find someplace dry, make camp for the night." Arthur announced.

"Dry?" Gwaine's response came instantly. "I vaguely seem to remember the meaning of that word. Perce, help me out here?"

"Dry, dry, dry…" Percival, playing along. "No, mate, sorry. Can't remember. Something to do with _warm_, maybe."

"Warm," Gwaine's voice was dreamy now. "I could use a warm apple pie right now. Warm apple cider…"

"Warm anything, really." Merlin contributed to the conversation, and Arthur could feel him grinning, awoken from his reverie and all perked up again.

"Thank you, Gwaine and Percival," Arthur said drily, "for volunteering to ride ahead and select a campsite for us."

"I'm almost sorry we killed those bandits and deprived them of this miserable weather." Gwaine grumbled as he spurred his horse.

Arthur smiled to himself.

He heard a rustle of leaves to his left at the exact same time that his horse gave way underneath him, neighing loudly, and the world turned suddenly upside down.


	2. Chapter 2

Gwaine reigned in his horse hard as Arthur went down in front of him. His eyes registered the rope pulled taut across their path immediately, but Merlin's horse toppled over before he could form any word of warning. His sword was already drawn, and he knew without looking that Percival had already maneuvered his horse behind him to face the opposite direction, when Leon's shout of 'Ambush!' reached his ears, at the same time as men in brown cloaks, decorated with nets of leaves, swarmed onto the path.

"Protect the King!" he heard Leon shout, and if he couldn't it wasn't for lack of trying. Sounds of steel on steel were all around him now, cries of pain (mercifully none in voices that he recognized), Leon's roar of frustration, closer now than his voice had been before. Gwaine slashed through yet another man's neck as he jumped off his horse, feeling the warm spray of blood on his cheek and brow, parried a sword thrust aimed at his side and smashed that man's jawbone with his elbow. That had been the last bastard standing between him and his King, between him and Merlin.

He turned his eyes towards the place he had last seen Arthur lying on the ground white with pain, unable to stand, his sword arm limp at his side and his sword, not as steady as he would wish, in his other.

The sword was no longer in Arthur's hand, and there was another one at his throat. Arthur looked furious, probably at himself.

"Surrender or your King dies!" the man holding the sword to Arthur's throat shouted gruffly. He was bald, dressed warmly in furs, and he had a commanding air about him.

The sounds of battle died down behind him and he could feel the uncertainty in the air. The Knights had the upper hand in the fight, they already almost outnumbered their remaining attackers and must be loath to surrender, but their King had been captured; Gwaine turned around wildly and could see them already beginning to lower their swords.

"No!" he yelled, frustrated. "Leon! If they wanted him dead, he'd be dead already! They want him alive!" He raised his sword just a bit higher at some idiot who had begun to advance towards him. "_Leon_! Are we going to surrender to them, _surrender the King_ to them?"

"Yes." Leon was pale, but he spoke firmly as he lowered his sword.

"Come now," sneered the bald man, "it is as you say, Sir Knight, we prefer your King alive – but we have no need of him if we are dead, do we now?" His sword pressed closer to Arthur's throat, and Gwaine saw the thin trickle of blood.

"_Gwaine_?" He heard Percival whisper his name behind him and knew it was a question, that his sword wasn't the only one still raised. He cursed under his breath. It was pointless now, he knew, Leon had made the decision and the momentum in their favor had been lost. The only one of them who could still turn the tide of this battle had been knocked unconscious before it had even begun. He glanced over to where Merlin had been thrown from his horse, his hair matted and the side of his face covered in blood. He willed him to open his eyes and save the day somehow, but Merlin lay still and Gwaine could barely tell if he was breathing. His stomach clenched at the thought. He looked at Arthur. The damned noble fool had followed his gaze to Merlin and was giving him a puzzled look, as if wondering what he could possibly be basing his decision on.

"Gwaine." Arthur didn't so much speak as move his lips, as his gaze shifted to Gwaine's sword and back, but Gwaine understood anyway. If there was a chance, any chance, that Camelot might not be left without a King, and without any obvious heir, they would take that risk, no matter what manner of dishonorable death capture might entail.

"Lay down your sword, Perce." Gwaine snarled as the men closed in on him. "These dirty motherless scum aren't worth us dirtying our blades."

...

"When I tell you to lay down your swords, it doesn't mean raise your fists!" Leon hissed at them.

They had been stripped of their armor, their hands tied together in front of them, the rope around their necks binding them all together. Gwaine was shivering and fervently hoping that they didn't have far to go. "What did you expect, that I would go down without a fight?" he hissed back.

Percival turned his neck to reveal a rapidly darkening eye and bruised jaw. "Yeah," he grinned at Leon, "we never learned how to do that."

"Well, don't ask me to give you my boots when your toes fall off." Leon muttered. Gwaine's boots had been the only ones taken.

"That's not because I landed a few well-aimed punches, mate," he scoffed, shaking the hair out of his eyes, "that's because of my impeccable sense of _style_."

Gwaine heard Percival give a little laughing snort at that, and thought he heard something like a smile in Leon's voice as he said something which sounded suspiciously like "not your _mate_" under his breath. Good. Nothing like false bravado to keep them warm while trudging through the cold towards probable death. At least Arthur was not forced to endure this march along with his other injuries.

Arthur was slumped over in his saddle, the reins of his horse in the bald man's clenched fist. Beroun, the other men had called him. His sword arm was lying limp in his lap, and his other arm was wrapped around his torso, hugging it to his body. Gwaine knew that if it weren't for the rain, the cold sweat would be visible on Arthur's face, knew that it was all Arthur could manage to not fall off his horse.

Still, despite the pain he was clearly in, every few minutes he would lift his head to look at the semi-unconscious Merlin, who was being held tightly by the man riding to Beroun's other side. Gwaine cursed softly under his breath and hoped that none of them had noticed the King's concern for a seemingly simple manservant, because he did not want to think about what would happen to Merlin if these men, whoever they were and whatever they wanted, realized they could use him against Arthur. At least it was dark now, the crescent moon giving very little light by which to notice anything.

Not for the first time, Gwaine wondered about Arthur's blindness where Merlin was concerned. He cared for him deeply, more than he cared for anyone else, that much was obvious to Gwaine, but despite that, and despite all of the time the two of them spent together, it was as if Arthur never even suspected the power Merlin had, never put two and two together and realized that Merlin was the one constant in all of the most inexplicable victorious scenarios.

He expected nothing more from most of the knights; although he had come around to accept their good intentions and noble hearts, he knew they did not perceive people from all stations of life as equals. To them, Merlin was just a peasant, a servant. He may be the King's personal servant, and obviously on very friendly terms with him, loyal and brave in his own way, but nevertheless, just a servant. It would never occur to them to attribute to him the frequent strokes of luck and unexplained events that saved their lives, any more than it would occur to them to thank the servant who emptied their chamber pot or to thank the knife they used to cut their meat. Noble bloody fools. Or as Merlin would no doubt say, noble prats. Gwaine knew better, however.

Merlin had been his first real friend in a very long time, had taught him to trust again. When Gwaine had had second, and third and fourth, thoughts about becoming a knight, it was Merlin's implicit trust in Arthur that had swayed him. It was as if Merlin's smile had melted away the barriers around his scarred heart. That rediscovery of trust and real friendship had allowed him to let others in as well. Gwaine had seen Percival through a difficult time, the loss of Lancelot, and now he was more than a comrade-in-arms to him, he was like a blood-brother. Every human connection he had now, he felt he owed to Merlin.

Protective of him, and watchful, he had been shocked the first time he had noticed Merlin dip his head and form strange words with his lips, the first time he had seen Merlin's eyes glow gold for the briefest of moments. He had been more scared than he cared to admit, but had not allowed his trust in Merlin to be shaken. Watching Merlin closely, he had slowly come to realize how much they all owed him. Every time a villain stumbled or tripped, every time a lucky cave-in or falling branch helped them escape, every time a beast inexplicably stopped attacking or some magical ruse against Camelot was discovered and stopped in the nick of time, Gwaine felt he was safe in assuming that Merlin was owed thanks.

He had wanted to confront him, but had ultimately felt that it was Merlin's right to hold on to his secret if he wished, he would not pry it out of him. He had decided to respect Merlin's right to privacy. It had driven a wedge between them, however. Recently, Merlin had become more secretive and closed-off, looked more and more like he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders alone. Gwaine, always open and honest with Merlin, did not always know how to speak to him now, and so they spoke less.

That would change if they both survived this, he promised himself.

Among other things, he would speak to him about Arthur. When he had first noticed his lingering stares at Merlin, he had been afraid that the King would be tempted to take improper advantage of his manservant, and had wondered whether he should say anything to Merlin about it. He probably would have by now if he hadn't known about Merlin's magic, the boy was hardly defenseless after all, or if Merlin hadn't been so openly fond of Arthur that it was clear he did not feel ill-used in any way. Lately, Merlin had been doing his fair share of staring and it had not gone unnoticed by Gwaine. The way Merlin now smiled to himself whenever he caught Arthur's gaze upon him, the way their hands brushed whenever Merlin handed him anything – none of these things had escaped Gwaine's attention. Meeting Merlin that night in the hallway, clearly sneaking out of the King's chambers – well, it was clear by now to Gwaine that the King shared his bed with his manservant, and that the both of them were enjoying it. Merlin was in love no doubt, quite possibly for the first time in his young life, and had no one to share it with, to confide his new-found happiness in. Well, Gwaine would correct that. Just as soon as Merlin magicked them out of this mess.

"Stop!" Beroun commanded.

Gwaine had assumed they were headed for one of the caves on the other side of the river bank; they were not far from a crossing. He strained his neck to see what was going on, trying to ignore the chafing of the rope.

Two of the men had run forward and were lifting a heavy door. An underground root cellar, he realized. Well, it had to be warmer than out here, right?

"Gwaine, don't –" Leon began to whisper, but Gwaine struggled anyway as hands were lain on him, as they were all shoved unceremoniously towards the cellar door.

The rope around their necks was removed, while a few of Beroun's men went in.

"Down the ladder!" a man barked at him.

He looked Percival in the eye and nodded. He then knelt, grabbed the ladder in his bound hands, and began his descent into the darkness below.


	3. Chapter 3

"Gwaine, are you trying to burrow into the ground, mate?" Percival asked good-naturedly.

They were tied together, with Gwaine on the other side of the beam, facing east. Their hands were still bound and had been tied to their feet, which were now bound at the ankles. Gwaine had been struggling for a while now, and Percival had been tolerating it without saying a word, despite the rope chafing at him, since at least it seemed to be warming Gwaine up a bit.

"Trying… to… untie… hands." Gwaine grunted, his voice muffled.

"Only thing you'll get for your efforts are torn, bloody lips," Percival said matter-of-factly, "you won't untie these knots with your mouth. You'll lose a tooth first."

A few more moments passed before Gwaine finally ceased his struggle. Percival felt him lean back against the beam and, in the sudden silence, could hear his teeth chattering slightly. He glanced yet again at the stolen goods on the far side of the cellar. There was a pile of furs there. If only Merlin could get to them…

He looked over at Arthur, warily. It was dark, the single torch left to them on the wall didn't provide much light, but it seemed that Arthur's eyelids were half-closed. He was breathing slowly, carefully. Cracked rib or two, Percival guessed, in addition to his obviously broken arm. Leon, tied to the same beam as Arthur, hadn't moved a muscle, so far as Percival could tell, since their captors had left; probably for fear of causing Arthur pain. Maybe they had both fallen asleep. He decided it was worth the risk.

Percival stretched out his feet as far as possible and nudged Merlin's shoulder with his boot. Merlin was lying on the ground not far from him, the only one of them not tied to a beam, and whose bound hands weren't also tied to his ankles, either because of his head injury or due to the fact that he wasn't a knight and therefore posed less of a threat. Whatever the reason, Merlin could get to those furs.

Percival nudged him again. "Merlin!" He whispered loudly.

"Percival!" Arthur practically hissed at him. "What on _earth_ are you doing?"

"My apologies, Sire." Percival cursed inwardly, "I just thought Merlin could get us those furs over there. Before Gwaine freezes to death." He could feel Gwaine shivering.

"Would you wake him, so that he can sit here and wonder about his fate like the rest of us?" Arthur asked, reprovingly.

"Well, _yes_," Percival thought, "he's a big boy, Sire, and he'll manage, same as the rest of us." He held his tongue though. He stopped short of answering back at royalty.

Gwaine could pull it off, somehow, with that roguish charm of his, and Merlin… well, he _was_ Arthur's personal manservant and they were practically best friends, those two. Arthur would let Merlin get away with anything. He himself, however, still always felt slightly ill at ease around nobility. Power was too often misused; he had learned that the hard way. It was hard for him to trust those born to it.

He'd been surprised when Gwaine had confided to him that he was of noble birth himself, his father a knight. Gwaine was different though. He hadn't lived a life of privilege, of nobility. He knew what the world actually was, as seen through the eyes of people like himself. Like Lancelot, whom he had followed to Camelot… whom he would have followed anywhere.

Merlin was one of them, too. Elyan was a commoner like them as well, he supposed, but he was a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, and Percival privately thought he gave himself airs. Percival was fond of Merlin. He and Gwaine would often invite Merlin to go along with them to the tavern, and occasionally he did. He had a wicked sense of humor sometimes, that lad, when he wasn't too preoccupied about something or other, and he somehow reminded Percival of home, of his old village from when he was a boy himself. Those were good times, with Gwaine and Merlin at the tavern. Merlin was surprisingly handy in a fight, too. No doubt because he was small and quick; good reflexes.

Gwaine had a very high opinion of Merlin, Percival knew, as had Lancelot. Lance had remarked to him once that Merlin was incredibly brave, more than anyone knew. He had been drunk, but serious, and he had changed the subject of the conversation immediately after Percival had asked for an example. Percival hadn't thought much of it until Gwaine had said something similar regarding Merlin's courage and had also dropped the subject when pressed. Percival wasn't the type to ask twice, or to be overly curious about the affairs of other people, but he knew that there was something he didn't know about Merlin. It was probably something to do with the lad's intelligence, though. Merlin was exceptionally bright, they all knew that. Maybe he was acting as a spy for Arthur somehow? Whatever it was, he accepted the high opinions of Lance and Gwaine without question, and besides, Merlin had proven himself to be a true friend. He'd stolen warm milk for him from the kitchen, no questions asked, and then hadn't told any of the other knights when he found out that Percival had adopted a stray kitten and was nursing it back to health. He'd even helped Percival, and Percival instinctively trusted anyone so good with baby animals. The other knights often teased him about his soft heart, because of the way he took to small children and animals, but Merlin had grinned happily at him and his kitten, and had even voiced approval of the name Percival chose (Sir Pounce-a-lot, as a tribute to Lance), saying that they would have him healthy and pouncing all over the place in no time at all.

Merlin stirred, and groaned. Percival avoided looking in Arthur's direction.

"Wh – what the –" Merlin sat up slowly, bringing his hands up to his bloodied forehead. "Where are we?"

"In a below-ground cellar, which may as well be in the middle of nowhere." Arthur spoke calmly, collectedly. Percival wondered if he was trying to hide his discomfort from Merlin. The success of that wasn't likely, Percival could have told him that.

"I can't believe – I can't _believe_ I was knocked unconscious! I'm such an _idiot_!" Merlin looked extremely chagrined.

"There's hardly anything you could have done, trust me, Merlin." Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin. "You shouldn't get yourself worked up over nothing, your head is injured."

"Over nothing?" Merlin repeated, looking around him. "No, of course, you're right, Sire. Silly me, worrying. We're only tied up and helpless and probably waiting for our deaths. If we don't freeze first. Nothing to write home about."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything.

"Um, Merlin?" Percival ventured, "Any chance you could get us those – "

"Absolutely not." Arthur glared at Percival. "Merlin could get himself in trouble over that."

"Oh, yes, I wouldn't want to get myself into any trouble! I wonder what _that_ would feel like." It was Merlin's turn to roll his eyes. "What do you need, Perce?"

"Um." Percival was unsure now. Gwaine hadn't said anything for a while now, it was unlike him, but Arthur wasn't wrong either, it would be clear who had taken the furs…

"Perce?"

"Um, well –" he glanced over at Arthur, whose eyes were half-closed in pain again. "There are some furs over there," he gestured with his head in their direction, "and Gwaine's teeth were chattering pretty hard earlier… but Arthur – I mean, the King – well, he has a point, Merlin, I wouldn't want –"

"Well, I wouldn't want Gwaine to freeze to death. Gwaine, you alright?" Merlin got up slowly, using the wall as support. "Gwaine?"

"M'alright." Gwaine managed.

That seemed to decide Merlin.

"_Merlin_!" Arthur sounded exasperated. He leaned his head back against the beam for support as he turned his neck slightly, watching Merlin go through the pile of furs. "As your King, I _command_ you – "

"Arthur, don't be ridiculous," Merlin said firmly, "none of you will do anybody any good if you all bloody freeze to death. And I never do as I'm told anyway."

He covered Gwaine first, with a huge, thick dark brown fur. Percival could hear him whispering gently to him.

"Gwaine, you alright there, mate?" Percival tried for light-hearted, but he could hear the worry in his own voice.

"He'll be fine, he just needs to warm up a bit, and rest. He mostly has a mean headache. I wish I had some salve for his lips, though. It appears he tried to gnaw his way through the rope, like a rat." Merlin said, and Percival felt reassured. Merlin was practically Gaius's apprentice, after all.

"I warned him about the rope." he said, smiling slightly to himself at the thought of Gwaine being so unable to accept defeat despite his better judgment.

"You're injured, Sire." Merlin's fingers were probing gently at Arthur's side now. "If I only had something to bind your arm with, to bind your ribs – there are a couple of stolen dresses over there, maybe I could tear the fabric –"

"Merlin," Arthur's voice was tired, "enough, stop. There is nothing you can do for me now. Just –" he looked up at Merlin, and his gaze softened.

Percival watched as Merlin took Arthur's hand in both of his, and sat there for a moment with a bowed head. Then Merlin rose, and brought some more furs over to them, tucking a soft grey fur gently around his King first, before covering the rest of them.

He returned to kneel beside Arthur. Percival heard him whisper, "I could untie the ropes, Arthur. I could –"

"We don't have any weapons, Merlin. The door is extremely heavy, and chained from the outside. When those men return – well, I think it likely Morgana will be with them." Arthur put his hand on Merlin's arm, grimacing with pain as he did so.

"Why? What did they say?" Merlin asked, quietly.

Percival knew by now that Morgana was a painful subject for them, King and servant both. Once, there must have been light and love in her now shriveled black heart, he supposed, but he had to wonder, sometimes, whether the opportunity to finish her off had arisen at some earlier time and had been lost to Arthur's compassion, at the future cost of so many lives…

"Nothing much," Arthur answered carefully, "but they did mention something about 'her wanting them alive', and so I assumed –"

"Yes," Merlin nodded slowly, "that would make sense. Arthur, we need to get out of here –"

"It would be a pointless attempt, Merlin." Arthur shook his head. "Go," he said more softly, "try and get some rest while you can. Maybe Morgana will let you go when she arrives."

Merlin let out a quick breath and bit his lip. "I hardly think –" he began to say, and then stopped. He put his hands to Arthur's forehead, and then dropped them again. "Alright, Arthur. Maybe," he said, "you never know."

Merlin came back to his spot near Percival, wrapping himself up in a rust-colored fur. He was shivering a little.

"Here, come closer," Percival said, "you'll be warmer that way."

He was rewarded with a grateful grin as Merlin sidled up to him, leaning slightly against his side.

Some moments of silence passed.

"Merlin, are you alright?" Arthur suddenly asked. "Your head – I didn't ask…"

"Yes. I'm fine, Arthur."

"I'm sorry you were dragged into this."

"Wh-what?" Merlin gave Arthur a bewildered look. "Where else would I be?"

"At the castle," Arthur replied primly, "doing – doing servant things."

Merlin gave a very unservantly snort and burrowed deeper into his fur. "Servant things," he muttered and shook his head, and then in an even lower voice, "_clotpole_."

Percival couldn't help being amused, and he looked over at Arthur, hoping for the usual biting rejoinder, but Arthur was chewing the inside of his lip and staring at nothing, apparently pretending not to have heard.

They were warmer now with the furs, and Percival could swear that Sir Brennis, who was tied furthest from him, together with Elyan, was actually snoring softly.

"Open it up!" a harsh voice suddenly bellowed from above them.

Percival tensed, and he could feel Merlin become more alert at his side as well.

The heavy door slowly opened above them, revealing three men holding torches and half-empty bottles of drink.

A burly man with unkempt whiskers took a torch from one of the other men and gestured for him to go into the cellar. "Get in there." he said, and it had been his harsh voice they had heard just now. His next words hit Percival like an unexpected punch to the stomach, unwanted memories from his time at the orphanage rushing to the surface. "Bring the little one up for us to enjoy."


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur stared in horror at the cellar door as it slammed shut above them. The act had an air of finality about it.

He hadn't said a word.

They had taken Merlin, _his Merlin_, and he hadn't said a word.

He was the King. He was helpless.

He had watched Merlin be manhandled to his feet and up the ladder by some lowly ruffian and his brain had been unable to form a coherent thought, much less convert it into speech. He had just sat there, the beating of his own heart growing impossibly loud against his ribcage as everything in his world grew dark. Everything except for the beacon of light that was Merlin, without which he might as well be a drowned man lost at sea.

He felt crushed under his own helplessness, for what words could the captive King speak now, what vain threats or pitiful pleas would help Merlin?

Merlin. His lips had formed the word, but he could not tell if any sound escaped them, and then it had been too late. Merlin was gone. Taken from him. To be _enjoyed_ by…

He shut his eyes tight against the thought.

Just a few moments ago every breath had hurt his fractured side, had caused a sharp pain in his broken arm. Now he just felt cold, numb. It was as if his racing heart had sunk to some irretrievable depth. He would have welcomed back the pain as something to focus on.

Merlin hadn't said a word either. There had been panic in his eyes, Arthur was experienced enough in battle and in the training of men to be able to recognize that unmistakable look of panic, but there had also been that look of determination that he knew so well. He never had quite figured out what was behind that determined look that Merlin got sometimes, and somehow he had always felt that it wouldn't do to ask.

He felt a very real physical pain in his heart as he tried not to think what Merlin was being determined about as he was hauled off. Had he been trying to put a brave face on it for Arthur, for the knights? Had he been resigning himself to his fate, deciding that he wouldn't beg or cry or allow himself to be broken by it?

Percival's voice broke through into his consciousness. He was repeating Gwaine's name.

Gwaine.

Gwaine hadn't been at a loss for words. He had shouted, struggled against the ropes confining him, made desperate threats, hurled profanities, some of which were surprisingly new to Arthur, had yelled to Merlin that he would be alright…

Gwaine let out a final roar of frustration and then quieted. Arthur could hear him panting.

Percival met his gaze. If Percival had noticed that he was bleeding where the rope had cut him during Gwaine's struggles, he wasn't letting on. He was sporting a new cut near his already blackened eye now, too. Closest to Merlin, he had struck out with his feet as best as he was able, and had actually attempted to head-butt the man as he neared him. That had earned him a kick in the face. Luckily the man was half-drunk and not too stable on one leg, or it might have been worse.

"Sire," Percival began, then stopped. He looked down at his tied wrists and kept looking at them as he spoke again, "Sire, I'm not much with words. But when I was a boy, my village was burnt to the ground by men from Essetir. My parents died in that attack. I was sent, along with some other children, to a monastery, some days ride away. The money for the children's home there came from a noble family that lived nearby." He smiled bitterly. "They didn't do it for charity's sake alone. The monks would creep into the sleeping hall some nights and take one of the boys. Turns out, the noblemen would come down from their big, fancy house, them and their friends, to have their way with those boys. The monks kept silent and took their money."

Arthur stared at him. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear this now, but Percival had never spoken so many words to him at once. He groped for something to say to this man he now considered his friend.

"Percival. I'm sorry –"

"No." Percival interrupted him, and then flushed at his own impudence. "No, Sire. What I'm saying is – well, I was too old for them by then, too strong-willed. But I had to watch it happen. There wasn't anything I could do to help." He met Arthur's gaze once more and held it, flushing more deeply. "It took me a long time to forgive myself for that. To stop feeling ashamed."

Leon spoke up, "There was nothing you could have done."

Percival looked at what he could see of Leon, who was tied behind Arthur, and remained silent. He looked heartbreakingly unconvinced.

"How long were you there?" Elyan asked.

"Not long. I ran away just a few months later. Alone."

"It must have been hard enough for you to survive on your own," Leon said, reacting at once to the implied self-beration, "without a group of ragtag smaller boys depending on you."

Percival shrugged in a tired way, which suggested to Arthur that he had gone over this in his mind hundreds of times already. "Where I was going with this, Sire, is –" he paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "Well, the important thing was not to let them feel ashamed. Merlin – Merlin will have nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn't his fault, he couldn't have done anything to prevent it."

There was a long, heavy silence this time.

"I ran across a few of those boys in later life," Percival continued doggedly. "They were alright, Sire. Just fine."

"Yes? So you think Merlin will be 'just fine', do you, Percival?"

Percival didn't answer. He looked at Arthur with something dangerously close to compassion.

"No," Arthur said quietly, "I didn't think so." He nodded at Percival and turned his head away. He was trying not to think. Not to think about that man, leering at Merlin…

"I ran across a few of those monks again, too." Percival spoke up again suddenly, and Arthur glanced back at him to see an uncharacteristically malicious grin on his face.

"By chance?" Gwaine asked, in a tone that suggested he could guess the answer himself.

"No. Lance's idea, actually." Percival grinned. "I met him when we both stood up for this scrawny little pickpocket at a market. Got to talking about runaway urchins, same as I was once. Somehow, the day ended up with the both of us riding towards that accursed monastery, to see what was what these days and maybe set things to rights. I was so used to pushing it out of my mind, I would never have thought of going back on my own…"

"Did you? Set things right?" Gwaine asked.

"We did." Percival replied, twisting around so that he had a better view of the back of Gwaine's shoulder, "It was still an orphanage. We watched it for almost a week's worth of nights and intercepted some nobles come to pay a visit –" his words caught in his throat suddenly and he glanced worriedly at Arthur.

Arthur shook his head to himself and gave a small, wry smile. Percival had obviously just realized what he was saying and to whom. Commoners could be put to death for the crime of attacking men of noble birth. "Don't worry," he said drily, "your secret is safe with me, Sir Percival."

"Right. Sire." Percival mumbled, and then continued, "Well, to make a long story short, we shortened their stories for them. Lance led the boys to the closest village, there were only thirteen of them, and got the innkeeper's wife to swear she would find them all apprenticeships or families to take them in. He was always good with the ladies –" Percival stopped abruptly again, not daring to so much as look in Arthur's direction this time.

Gwaine cleared his throat loudly. "So that's how the two of you started travelling together?" he asked in a tone of forced nonchalance.

"Yeah," Percival said, "I sort of tagged along after him, after that. We had good fun, too. He was great with a sword."

"So where were you?"

"Sire?"

"Where were you while Lancelot," Arthur pronounced the name calmly, "led those boys away?"

"Oh. I – I dealt with the monks. Sire."

"So the monastery is no longer there, I take it?"

"No, Sire. Burnt to the ground. Apparently, one of the monks left a candle in the library, whole place went down in flames. No survivors except for a few novices. Very tragic."

"I see. Well, accidents will happen, Sir Percival."

"Yes, Sire." Percival agreed.

A silence fell on them again. Arthur closed his eyes. The pain was resurfacing. Good. Focus on breathing, focus on the pain…

Don't think about Merlin. Don't think about his lazy, content smile when he complains about having to sneak through the cold hallways back into his own bed. Don't think about how warm his skin feels under the covers. Don't think about how even in this makeshift dungeon, he had dimpled and given Arthur a laughing, flirtatious look from under his long eyelashes as he had snuggled up to Percival. Don't think about what might be happening to him right now…

"We will avenge the boy as well, Sire." Sir Brennis piped up. "I wouldn't worry about him too much. Merlin's obviously the resilient type. Maybe you could give him a few extra coins. I'm sure he'll be back to cheerfully polishing your armor in no time at all."

Arthur's eyes flew open, narrowed. _A few extra coins_…? He felt a white hot rage build up inside him. "Sir Brennis," he said coldly, "when these ropes are untied, it will be your great fortune that my arm is broken. Otherwise, I might be tempted to break your jaw and then give _you_ a few extra coins."

"And then you wonder, Sir Brennis," Leon added, in a tone of utter contempt, "why we never take you anywhere."

"Sire, forgive me if –" Sir Brennis's reply was cut short by the sound of someone fumbling with the chains of their prison door.

Arthur held his breath as he looked up. How long had it been? Not too long, surely? Maybe… maybe they hadn't…

Merlin's tear-stained face appeared in the torchlight above them.


	5. Chapter 5

"Bring the little one up for us to enjoy."

Him. They were talking about him.

Merlin suddenly found it difficult to breath.

He stared at the man lumbering ungracefully down the ladder, his heart racing.

_Think, Merlin, think_. He couldn't give in to fear now.

He looked over at Arthur's pained, stunned expression and felt a sudden pang of love for him. How terrible this helplessness must be for Arthur.

"We're going to have some fun with you!" the man was standing over Merlin now, a disgusting smirk on his face.

Some part of Merlin's brain registered that Percival was actually trying to attack the man from his seated tied-up position, that Gwaine was struggling like mad again and shouting, that he was being lifted forcibly to his feet, but everything seemed distant somehow. He had room in his consciousness for two main thoughts right now.

They were taking him outside to be raped.

He was a powerful warlock.

Rough hands grabbed him by the neck and by his belt and shoved him towards the ladder.

He set his jaw. He was _not_ going to be raped. They were taking him outside. They had made the choice easy for him.

Although, was there really any other choice? Would he have let himself be raped in front of Arthur rather than let his magic be discovered? No, he thought to himself, there was a limit even to his self-sacrifice.

He could hear the man chuckling behind him, could smell his alcohol-soaked breath by his ear. "Climb!" the man snarled at him, and as he did he could have sworn he heard Arthur whisper his name.

"C'mere, boy," the man with the whiskers grabbed the back of his shirt impatiently as he neared the opening and dragged him up the rest of the way, pushing him to the ground as the two others shut and chained the door again.

"Well," the man that had brought Merlin up said, "he's on his knees already, what do you lads say we reward ourselves for our troubles before taking him back?"

"No," the whiskered man frowned as he lifted Merlin to his feet and pushed him, motioning for him to walk, "Beroun gets to have the first go at him, and I'm not risking getting on his wrong side today. Dealing with that witch always puts him on edge. Besides, it's too cold, Garbh, your tiny little prick would probably drop off."

The third man guffawed appreciatively. "Ha! Good one, Craig!"

"You lead, Cavan." Cavan nodded and walked off, still snickering.

"Thought I told you to start walking." Craig growled and slapped Merlin hard on the buttocks, making him jump. He stumbled forward, feeling the color rising in his face.

Focus, he told himself as he walked, ignoring the incessant stream of suggestive comments and occasional pinch on the behind from Garbh. _Focus on what you need to do_.

His first instinct had been to somehow elude these three, free the others and make a run for it. But how far ahead would they get before chase was given? They were without weapons. Arthur was seriously injured and Gwaine wasn't in peak form either. Merlin would have to intervene anyhow when they were inevitably caught up with and he wasn't sure it would go unnoticed in such a one-sided encounter. So that option was no good, he decided. He had to go with them, to where the others were. He had to make sure they weren't followed.

"So what's your name, boy?" Garbh cuffed him on the head.

Merlin let out a small cry of pain, then cursed himself inwardly and bit his lip. His head felt like it might explode.

When he had regained consciousness in the cellar, he had sensed his magic accelerating the healing process the way it always did, but he wasn't fully healed yet. If he were back home, Gaius would probably have him confined to bed with a ridiculously large bandage around his head. He'd probably make him swallow some foul-smelling concoction, too. Merlin had a lurking suspicion that Gaius added stinking ingredients unnecessarily; he could picture him and Geoffrey roaring with laughter over the private joke.

There was laughter behind him now. "Aw, he's so delicate, the little lad," Craig said loudly, "pity he's in for such a rough night, eh?"

They were crossing the bridge now and Merlin could already see from afar the flickering firelight they were headed towards, a cave entrance probably.

How many of them were there? He should've asked Percival while he had the chance. Although he supposed it didn't matter, not really. They would be drunk, surprised – it would be over quickly.

He felt sick to his stomach. He would have to kill them all. He'd never done anything like this, not really. His magic had always been worked in secrecy, not out in the open. Hiding behind trees and around corners, always hanging back from the others, he'd caused men to stumble, he'd heated sword-hilts, he'd dropped branches and he'd enchanted weapons, but he'd never faced a group of men with the deliberate intention of taking their lives.

Arthur faced men and killed them; he took no pleasure in it, but he did what needed to be done. He needed to be strong now, like Arthur. Arthur, who was always so brave.

He needed to do this for Arthur, because one thing was clear - no one who discovered his magic could be allowed to live and carry the tale to Morgana. It would take her all of two seconds to figure out that he had been protecting Arthur all this time. She would come after him, and would be sure to do it in front of Arthur and the others in order to put him at a disadvantage. He was more powerful than her, he felt sure of that, but he was limited by the fact that he would not reveal his magic. The others would never realize until too late that Merlin was the target. If she succeeded in destroying him, Arthur would be left vulnerable. If he was forced to reveal himself, he might have to flee Camelot and go into hiding, leaving Arthur vulnerable. No, he resolved, clenching his fists, anyone who discovered his magic had to die.

"Who's there?" a voice called out from near the cave entrance.

"Us, we've got the boy."

The cave interior was surprisingly warm and inviting. Merlin's stomach growled at the smell from the cooking fires and at the sight of assorted meats and fruits on two large crates that seemed to be substituting for a table. The cave was littered with half-open crates, sleeping furs and empty ale bottles. Nine men, Merlin counted, plus the one outside, that makes ten. Of the men in the cave, only Garbh was standing behind him now. Merlin couldn't see the knights' armor or weapons anywhere.

"My men have had a bit too much to drink this night, celebrating our victory and mourning our dead. They are bored and ready for some sport." Beroun walked up to Merlin and grabbed his chin roughly, tilting his face upwards.

"That's a pretty mouth. The King put it to good use?"

Laughter erupted around them. Merlin flushed and kept his eyes lowered, refusing to meet the man's eyes.

"The King's _personal_ servant, are you?" Beroun continued, untying the rope that bound Merlin's wrists together. "Well, since we hold the King in the highest respect," he gave a ferocious smile, "we would consider it an honor to share what is his."

He suddenly pushed Merlin forward and bent him over the makeshift table, twisting his arm painfully. Merlin felt a wave of fear sweep over him, despite everything.

The men were cheering now, shouting out obscene suggestions and arguing about who would go next after Beroun.

He shut his eyes for a moment. These men deserve to die, he told himself firmly. If I didn't have magic –

He opened his eyes again and saw the world in brighter colors, shimmering at the edges, the way he always did whenever he let go and just let his magic flow freely within him. He twisted his head around and looked at Beroun, who was already pulling down Merlin's trousers. Beroun's grin froze in horror as he registered the gold in Merlin's eyes and what it meant. For a split second, it was wildly comical, the contrast between his horrified look and his huge erection. Then Beroun took a step back –

"_Wiþdrífaþ_!" Merlin swept his arm in an arc and all the men in the cave were thrown back forcefully.

He stood up straight and tied his trousers tightly. He noticed his hands were shaking. His resolve, however, was not.

"What are you waiting for, shoot at him!" he heard Beroun snarl angrily, and looked up to see a crossbow trained at him. A few of the men had been knocked unconscious, but the rest were back on their feet and some of them had weapons in their hands. For all that, though, they seemed unsure. Well, I guess that means they've met Morgana, Merlin thought.

"Boy, I'm going to teach you the meaning of pain." Beroun pointed a sword at Merlin, but the fear in his voice was obvious.

Merlin snorted.

"_Cume þoden_!" he stood calmly as a sudden whirlwind started up all around him, making it impossible for the men surrounding him to keep their footing. The crossbow struck Beroun in the face and another man had his throat cut by a whirling dagger.

The wind died down as abruptly as it had started, before any of them could crawl too far. Merlin ran towards the cave entrance, reaching it just as the man standing guard came in. Merlin saw his eyes widen in surprise.

_"Cume neah_!" The man was pulled into the cave, falling sprawled at Merlin's feet.

Merlin stopped in the entrance to the cave, turning to face Beroun, who was on his knees, sword still in one hand and cupping his bleeding cheek with the other.

"You will never hurt anyone ever again," he said in a steady voice, "_feoll bu brand_!"

He took a few steps back as the cave collapsed on the men inside. A few short screams were quickly cut off, and then there was nothing but silence.

There, he thought, it's done. I'm safe now. We're all safe now. His hands began shaking again.

Slowly, he dropped to his knees, and freed himself from the rope that was still tied around one of his wrists. He buried his face in his hands and began sobbing uncontrollably, whether with relief, in a delayed response to the fear and humiliation, or at having just killed all those men, he wasn't sure.

After a few moments, he began to feel the biting cold, and he remembered that Arthur was still tied up, cold and injured and probably worried to death. He took a few deep, shaky breaths and stood up, looking around him. There were a few unlit torches nearby, close to where the guard had stopped them previously.

"_Forbærnan_." Merlin lit a torch, and by its light he noticed a number of bulging sacks and a few small boxes stacked against a large boulder. Closer inspection revealed that the sacks contained the knights' armor and weapons, and the boxes were filled with bottles of mead and honey cakes. Odd.

Merlin sighed. He was too tired, too emotionally spent, to think about how he was going to explain any of this. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve again.

"_Æfterfolgaþ_!" he commanded, and began to walk back in the direction of the underground cellar, where his friends and the man he loved were still imprisoned, the sacks and boxes floating obediently behind him.


End file.
